


It's Not Over

by ShelbyLehnsherr



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mental Breakdown, X-Men: First Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyLehnsherr/pseuds/ShelbyLehnsherr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is worried that Erik will get seriously injured or even killed by Shaw. In response, he breaks off his relationship with Erik, thinking it would be easier that way. It only leads to more problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Over

"It's over."

It's only two simple words. It's only two simple words, but they hurt coming out, almost as though he's choking on them. It's only two simple words, but he is sure his heart is breaking. Charles looks away, because he can't face Erik, can't face those too somber gray eyes and the hurt that is currently rolling off of him like waves, threatening to pull him under. Silence settles over them, long and uncomfortable. He shifts, wrings his hands anxiously before sliding them into his pockets. He can't do this. He just...can't.

I'm sorry builds in his chest, the weight and pressure of it almost too much to bear, but the words die uselessly before they ever escape him. He can't apologize. He wants to, needs to, but he can't. An apology would provide Erik with the simple loophole he needs to talk him out of this decision - for strong-willed as he is, Charles is so easily dissuaded by the other man that it is almost comical - and that is something he simply cannot allow. Not now, when the decision has already been made and at least partially followed through. There is no taking it back, no matter how much he wants to in that moment; a quick glance at Erik is like a stab to his heart, and he sucks in a sharp gasp of breath.

"Charles -,"

"No." The words are a slap and he knows it; he can see it in Erik's face, in the way his jaw clenches tightly and his eyes harden. Somewhere, Charles knows that he is making a mistake - he's seen Erik's mind and knows that he is the first person to break through the walls he built for himself, and his heart aches at the realization that he is singlehandedly responsible for their reconstruction. One hand slides out of his pocket and he raises it a few inches before he realizes what he's doing and lets it drop back to his side. He can't take it back now, it's far too late.

Erik tries again, voice shaking. "Charles, I don't -,"

"No." He doesn't want his voice to crack but it does, and he hates himself for it. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand and chokes back what is probably a sob, tearing his gaze away from the other man again. And though he's promised many, many times that he won't reach into his mind without some sort of permission, he can't help it, because the raw emotion is pouring out of the other man like water from a faucet.

 _WhywhywhyCharleswhywhywhy._

That's it, this is his breaking point. Without another word, Charles turns and flees from the room, allowing shaking legs to carry him upstairs. By some semblance of luck, the children are all asleep, and he meets no one on his way; he's in his bedroom with the door shut tight before it hits him all at once, a blunt force of pain and anger and betrayal. He shouldn't have done it, can't believe he's done it, but he has and there is no way of taking it all back now. It's a coward's way of dealing with something that will inevitably happen and he knows it.

But the fear of losing Erik at the hands of Sebastian Shaw is too great, and though he feels pain slice through him like a knife, he is sure that it will be hundreds, no thousands, of times worse if he delays it. Charles is already too attached, tied to him more tightly than he should be, and he cannot fathom the reaction he would have to the other's death. It may be a coward's way of dealing with things, but it's what he has to do.

It was only two simple words, but Charles can feel his world crumbling because of them.

\---

 _"It's over."_

Despite the simplicity of those two single words, it felt like a knife stabbed right through Erik's heart. Those words had the power to shatter his world at that very instant, but for the moment, he tried to maintain a passive façade. His body language, however, gave away what he was truly feeling. The crease between his brows deepens as a frown tugs on the corners of his lips. He can feel the tears welling in the ducts of his eyelids, and for the moment, he is capable of blinking them back.

He doesn't miss the brief glance that Charles offers in his direction, and parts his lips to say something, anything, but no words come out. Not even a second later, Charles is no longer looking at him, but at the wall, unsteady hands slipping into the pockets of his dark slacks. The silence between them lingers for several uncomfortable moments. Every so often, Charles would open his mouth to speak, only to find that he has nothing to say. Erik wanted to think that he was going to take back what he just said and that this entire conversation was just one big joke.

But the punch-line never came.

"Charles-," Erik spoke up, extending a hand to the telepath, desperately reaching out for him. _Please, Charles, don't do this. I know you don't want to do this._ His voice was shaking, and as much as he wished he could control it, he found that he could not.

"No." Charles tone was firm, laced with so many emotions that Erik could not pinpoint which one he'd been meaning to show.

Erik's jaw tightened, that word crashing down on him like a wave. His somber eyes narrowed, fingers reflexively clenching and unclenching. He glances to the fireplace, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles raise a hand to him, only to let it fall limply back down to his side. _Please, say what you want to say, I need to hear what you're thinking._ "Charles, I don't-," He attempted to speak, but Charles refused to let him finish his sentence.

"No." His voice was an octave louder than before, and this time, more angry than anything else. After the anger almost instantly subsides, Charles has a hand to his mouth and he is desperately trying to choke back a sob, for the sake of maintaining some semblance of control in front of Erik.

 _WhywhywhyCharleswhywhywhy?_

His thoughts are racing, so fast that he cannot even keep up. He feels a faint presence in the back of his mind, and right then, he knew Charles was reading it. He was not about to start up an argument on how Charles agreed to never invade his thoughts, because that was the least of his worries. He wanted this to all go away. He wanted this to just be another nightmare.

Erik is striving to blink back the tears, but they finally roll in twin paths down his cheeks. That is when Charles turns from him, leaving the bedroom without another word, leaving Erik in silence. It is only when the door slams shut that Erik releases the sob he'd been holding back, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. He sank down onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his large hands as he listened to Charles' weak footsteps walking down the stairs just outside the door.

The only question he could think to ask himself was: "Why?"

\---

The pain is more real and raw than anything he's ever felt in his entire life. He feels like he is suffocating; the air in the room is suddenly far too heavy and he sucks in a breath, holds it, and lets it out in a great rush. Even here, locked safely away in his own bedroom, he can still hear the constant _whywhywhywhy_ that whirls through Erik's mind, and it is enough to nearly break him and send him fleeing back upstairs. He can't shake the last brief glimpse of Erik that he caught on his quick retreat out the door - tears that didn't look right on his face, never on his face and the shaking hands that rose to hide them.

He wants to rid himself of it, and he wishes for a moment that he could turn his own ability on himself and wipe his mind clean of the entire night, of the days and days they spent together in foolish happiness. It would be easier that way, but he is too selfish to do such a thing. He wants to hold onto them nearly as much as he wants to rid himself of them, truth be told.

Charles feels a sob rise in his chest and he tries to swallow it down but he can't. He is thankful that his bedroom is separated from the others, for fear that one of them would hear him and wake - though he at least attempts to always be the pillar of strength, he doubts that he could pull himself together enough for the children's sake. Perhaps tomorrow, but not tonight. Tonight he is simply too far gone, lost to the pain.

Something rattles around him and he looks up. The metal paperweight on his desk is shaking, and even now, he can feel the framework on his bed practically humming. He doesn't need to focus too acutely to feel Erik - it's all a great jumble of - and he feels his heart ache again, can't believe that he's still capable of feeling anything. The metal in his bedroom continues to shake, building with great ferocity, and for a moment he feels he has tipped the scales too far and catapulted Erik back into the precarious mindset he'd originally led him away from.

"Charles?"

Raven. She's frightened, he can tell from the fluttery edge to her voice. She knocks quickly, three harsh slaps of sound, and he knows he can't turn her away.

"Charles, let me in. Please. Something's wrong. Charles!"

She bursts through the door then, eyes wide and mouth open in a startled 'o.' For a moment, she freezes, caught somewhere between disbelief and genuine fear, and then she is moving toward him, dropping to her knees next to him on the floor.

He doesn't remember getting there but it's obvious his legs simply refused to move any further and it's with blurry eyes that he sees Raven reach out a hand and place it carefully on his shoulder.

"Charles?" She is all of seventeen years old again, worried for her brother and unsure of what to do next. "What's happened?"

\---

Moments passed in silence, save for the occasional sigh that left Erik's lips. He remained planted on the edge of his bed, staring absently into the fireplace as he contemplated what to do next. What could he do? Would there be any convincing Charles to reconsider his decision to end their relationship? What they had was good, or at least, that is what Erik thought.

Before Charles officially declared that it was over, he'd expressed his concern regarding Shaw. He was doubting a positive outcome in the confrontation that lie ahead, meaning, he thought Erik to be the weaker mutant, in a sense. Charles thought that he would be seriously injured, or even killed. Erik's overly cocky attitude was only making it harder, assuring the telepath that he would not be harmed. He was determined to come out as the victor. Even though he was confident, there was never a way to be sure of such consequential things.

He wanted Charles by his side. He wanted Charles to stay with him regardless of what was going to happen, but he was afraid that was too late. Charles had made up his mind.

Erik clenched his jaw tightly, curling his fists in the bed sheets as anger slowly scratched its way to the surface. He heard his pulse throbbing in his head as he became dizzy with rage. The metal doorknobs jiggled, the bedframe humming loudly before twisting inward, the metal hands of the clock practically melted off the face, and various things atop his desk rattled before being thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a loud thud.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to cease his anger. The more he thought about Charles, the harder it got to calm himself. _Why. Why. WHY?_ He grit his teeth, eyes tightly screwed shut as he gazed blindly at the wooden floor. His hands finally untangled themselves from the sheets, only to come back up to his face, shielding it from view once more.

Another soft sob escaped him, and everything that had been suspended clattered noisily to the floor. The humming of metal stopped, and silence lingered in the atmosphere, save for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace.

 _Charles…_

\---

"Charles, come on. Talk to me." Raven is pushing, albeit gently, and he still can't bring himself to look at her. What can he say? His involvement with Erik had been kept a secret, the first one he'd kept from Raven in ages, and the last thing he knows how to do at this moment is explain to her the real reason for the turmoil within the house. She's a bright girl when she wants to be, though, and he's sure that she's at least pieced together some of the story - he hasn't missed the sidelong glances across the dinner table and the way she's been studying his interaction with Erik more and more. Perhaps she knows, has known, and it's been his own naive blindness that has caused him to believe otherwise.

"What's happened?" She isn't giving him enough time to think, much less reply. He feels her shift so that she is seated directly next to him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders while her other hand covers his. Her eyes are filled with concern and he worries his lower lip for a moment, struggles to pull himself together and give her the answer she deserves.

"We just had an argument." Even he realizes how shaky his voice is and he hates himself for it for the briefest of instances. He considers telling her the truth because he can see it in her eyes that she doubts him, but his mouth can't form the words. It's as if he can't even admit it to himself, can't admit that he's ruined one of the more stable aspects of his life.

"Charles, don't lie to me." Raven's tone is accusatory and she squeezes his hand tightly in her own. "I know it was something worse than an argument, I'm not stupid."

It's then that the noise stops, that the metal in the room quiets and everything falls utterly, perfectly still. He looks at her then, really looks at her, and he can feel another sob building in his chest - she'd smile at him if it were under normal circumstances, tell him he's acting silly and letting too many of the world's problems affect him - but he holds it there. Raven sees it, she must, because she's hugging him the next moment, pulling him so close that her blonde hair tickles his face.

"Charles..."

It's a juxtaposition of voices, both Raven's and Erik's, and he feels his breath catch again, not because of the pity in his sister's tone, but because of the absolute heartbreak in Erik's.

\---

It was a miracle that Erik was able to get a modicum of sleep that night.

As the minutes dragged on into hours, Erik was gradually losing the battle with his self-control, and it took every ounce of the better part of his subconscious to not go and find Charles and demand some sort of other explanation. Periodically, the restraint he thought he had with his emotions would be let loose, and another episode would strike the Institute. He heard the kids running down the halls, only to bound down the stairs, to go to Charles room, he assumed. As much as he and the other mutants seemed to get along, they knew better than to come knocking on his bedroom door in the middle of the night, especially when it was plainly obvious that he was in a less than desirable mood.

It was around three in the morning before Erik passed out on his bed, more tired than he'd first imagined and envisioned he could be. Despite that, he still managed to wake up the instant the sun peeked over the horizon, a thin streak of dim light streaming through his slightly parted curtains. Distraught by his anguished state, he hadn't mustered enough energy or will to change out of the night previous' clothes. Not that it mattered. He was going to go about his usual routine, which involved going downstairs for some coffee and reading the morning newspaper. Hell, he doubted anyone would notice.

Erik sighed heavily as he got out of bed, stretching his limbs and craning his neck, satisfied when a much needed pop met his ears, even though it decreased his tension only slightly. He didn't bother with shoes, trudging out into the hallway in his socks, dressed in the usual attire of a black turtleneck and dark slacks to match. Not wanting to be disturbed, Erik cautiously closed his bedroom door and headed down stairs, facing the destruction he'd caused on the mansion a mere few hours ago.

Paintings had fallen off the walls, lamps had toppled over, vases shattered, and some doorknobs had fallen right out of their sockets (partially melted). Seeing all of this made the furrow between his brows deepen, recalling again just why he had been angry. Clenching his fists, Erik headed for the kitchen, trying to shake the unpleasant memories from his mind.

He tugged a hand lazily through his slightly mussed hair as he entered the large kitchen, stopping in his tracks just as the refrigerator door closed.

Charles.

\---

It's dawn, and he still hasn't closed his eyes.

Raven is curled up next to him, and he's thankful that she's finally fallen asleep as well - the clock on the mantle had struck three before he felt her grip on his hand loosen as she gave in to exhaustion, and he fully intends to let her sleep the afternoon away if she's able. He wholeheartedly yearns for the same thing, but every time he closes his eyes he's affronted with Erik's face, hurt and angry, and he simply can't shake it long enough to let sleep pull him under. His mind and body scream in protest, but as soon as the sun slides across the room and hits his face, he is up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and heaving a weary sigh.

Beside him, Raven mumbles something in her sleep and for a moment, her otherwise peaceful expression clouds over and he's afraid she might wake. Instinctively, he reaches out a hand, smooth's her hair, and waits; after a moment, she settles into sleep again and he knows that it is best to leave now rather than later. He doesn't bother with a shower; simply changes his clothes and splashes cold water on his face to alleviate some of the weariness written across his face.

He cannot spend the entire day like this - the children will be up soon, and he can't allow himself to appear before them looking as absolutely terrible as he feels.

Charles walks quietly down the corridor, and it's only then that he is able to truly process the damage Erik has done to the household - doorknobs are mauled and twisted, picture frames hang in disarray upon the walls, and the floor is littered with glass. He frowns, and the perpetual crease between his eyebrows deepens.

Though he does wonder if the other man is awake - in the time he's known him, Erik has always been steadfast in his routine, and he usually rises with the sun - he refuses to reach out and discover where in the mansion he is, exactly. Instead, he focuses on stepping over glass and broken bits of metal on his way to the kitchen.

It's gratefully empty when he arrives, and he nearly breathes a sigh of relief before catching himself - there's nothing to be relieved about at all. The idea of eating anything makes his stomach turn, but he wanders toward the refrigerator anyway. Tea, he needs tea. His mother had always believed tea to be the solution to everything, though she never prepared it herself, and it's a menial way of distracting himself from a much more weighted problem. Bending at the waist, Charles opens the door and allows the cool air to hit him square in the face. He's staring at nothing, really, because another train of thought has joined his own, and he realizes with a jolt that he's no longer alone.

Erik.

He straightens slowly, stares at the other man for a long moment, and drops his gaze to the floor. He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn't know what could possibly relieve the tension in the room.

\---

Erik couldn't say that Charles was the last person he wanted to see at that moment. If he admitted that, it would be like saying he had given up and was willing to let him go. That was something he was not inclined to do.

But nonetheless, right now, there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. He actually expected Charles to say something first, but no greeting or apology ever came. Silence lingered uncomfortably between them for several long moments, neither of them finding the courage to meet one another's gaze.

Erik would occasionally glance at Charles out of the corner of his eye, only to look away when the telepath picked his head up. His own jaw visibly tensed, and his stare at the wall hardened, as if it was the source of all his problems. He notices that Charles hadn't begun making coffee, so him starting a fresh brew would take a sufficient amount of time, thus standing around awkwardly with the man that had, needless to say, shattered his heart, the night before.

His gaze then flickered over to the island, a newspaper rested neatly atop it. He didn't know if Charles fetched it this morning or Hank, but he settled for the latter.

Erik slid one clenched hand into his pocket as he walked over to the counter, grabbing the newspaper, and without a word, left the kitchen, leaving Charles alone to continue whatever he had been doing minutes prior.

\---

It's been three days. Three days of uncomfortable, screaming silence. Three days of missed glances across the dinner table. Three days of concerned faces and murmured questions that he pretended not to hear. Three days of wakeworkeatsleep and nothing else. And, worse of them all, three days without Erik.

He throws himself into training the children because it proves to be an excellent distraction; there isn't room in his mind for much else when he focuses solely on throwing himself out of the way of Alex or encouraging Hank to run faster still around the gravel path outdoors. He often sits with Raven in the afternoons because it calms him; she knows, more than anyone, what to say to deter the same pained expression from crossing his face too often. And though training is a reputable scapegoat for avoiding Erik, he knows that he cannot allow things to continue on in such a way. Eventually, they will have to talk, and despite the fact that his chest aches with the very thought of it, it needs to be soon.

Secluded again in the safety of the library, Charles heaves a long sigh and runs a hand down his face. Sleep has been a fickle friend as of late, and he found himself getting less and less of it. Though he keeps the facade somewhat believable, there are still dark violet bruises beneath his eyes that can't be hidden. Lifting the glass of scotch from its place on the end table to his right, he swallows the remaining liquid in one quick gulp, grimacing slightly at the heat that floods his lungs.

He can't do this anymore.

It has to be fixed. He can't bear the guilt that gnaws at his insides and nearly makes him sick with grief. He can't bear the twist of emotions he isn't fully familiar with. He can't bear the heartache that he's caused himself and Erik, and he realizes now that what he believed to be a solution is only more of a problem. He hasn't spared either of them anything; it's only caused things to worsen drastically. He needs to fix this, to set it right, even if it may prove to be a failed attempt and he ends up grasping at smoke.

He needs to fix it, but for once in his life, he doesn't know how.

\---

Three days was all it took to have Erik on the verge of losing his sanity.

He hadn't spoken to Charles in that length of time, much less anyone else. He had no interest, nor the will, to care about anything. Charles had given him the power he needed to do the unthinkable, and now that he was gone, in a sense, all of that power was lost. He felt completely and utterly useless.

Erik hadn't an estimate for how long he had been pacing, but he was surprised he didn't wear a track in the hardwood floor by now. If this wasn't fixed, and soon, Erik was sure he would go crazy by the end of the night.

He worried his lower lip, brows practically drawn together in concentration. He was musing over all of the potential outcomes if he decided that going after Charles was the right way to go. Charles could potentially realize that ending their relationship was a mistake, or he could stand his ground and demand that Erik leave him to his own devices.

It was agonizingly frustrating.

His movements finally ceased, and he stared absently into the fireplace. He didn't know if he could go on living not knowing what could have happened had he decided to talk to Charles. He needed to know, not just for his sake, but Charles too. He needed to know where they stood, so he could take an appropriate course of action.

Even if it meant leaving altogether.

With his mind made up, Erik strolled quickly out of his bedroom, leaving the door ajar as he made his way downstairs. He could guess that Charles was in the library (he'd grown acutely aware of his nightly routine).

On the way down the stairs, he passed by Raven and Hank, who were talking about nothing he deemed very important, earning a glare in return. Obviously Charles had expressed their 'problem' and she had yet to hear his side of the story. But it was no matter. He intended on making things right…

If Charles was willing to cooperate.

He trudged down another long corridor, eventually coming to the library and seeing Charles sitting on one of two couches, a book in hand, legs crossed, and a dreadfully tired expression on his face.

"How much longer did you plan on keeping this up, Charles?"

\---

 _How much longer did you plan on keeping this up, Charles?_

He startles without thinking - his mind works slower these days, and he doesn't realize someone is coming until the door swings open and Erik enters. He can feel the anger building in the other man; not a word has passed between them for three days but Charles knows that tonight, Erik is prepared to talk. He relies on action in the same way that Charles relies on diplomacy, and it seems as though he is a step too late.

Carefully, he closes the book in his lap and sets it aside. He is all nerves now; he hasn't even opened his mouth and already his hands are nearly trembling. Confrontation has never been a path well-suited for him; he's always preferred to remain in the good graces of those around him, and when that fails, words are enough to spare any further conflict. But this is different - this is raw and painful and real, and it frightens him just the tiniest bit.

"I -," he sighs and starts again because it's all so wrong. "Erik, I've only expressed what I feel to be best. It's entirely up to you if you choose to accept it or not. I'm -,"

Sorry dies on his lips and he still can't look at him. He stands a little awkwardly and risks a glance in the other's direction. It nearly hurts, even just that one simple look, and Charles quickly drops his gaze away and clears his throat to fight the lump rising there.

Seeing Charles makes the anger swell inside Erik all over again. Memories of the night a few days previous flooded his thoughts, replaying over and over again until he is practically nauseous. He flexes his jaw, clenching and unclenching his shaking fists. He can see Charles is growing increasingly uncomfortable. He isn't looking at him. He can barely get a sentence out without stumbling over every other word.

In a few quick strides, Erik has Charles by the front of his cardigan, pushing him into a nearby bookshelf and pinning him to the spot. "You're what, Charles?" He asked, tone laced with malice, even if he did not intend for it to come out that way. He wanted to make things better, not worse. "This isn't what you really want."

\---

Erik is shoving him up against the bookshelf before he even knows what's happening and he feels his head snap against the wood with a dull thud. The other man is so close he can see the hints of blue in his eyes, the tiny spot on his lip where the skin's been rubbed raw from worrying. Charles shrinks away slightly and wonders for a moment if Erik is going to hit him - he's sure that though he's never taken a punch in his entire life, it would be easier to bear than the rage he sees in his eyes.

 _This isn't what you really want._

He hears the words twice, both in his head and aloud, and he feels his eyes burn. It isn't. It isn't what he wants, not at all, and though he's said a million and one things that make it seem otherwise, it's the honest truth.

"I-I'm sorry, Erik. I can't..." His voice breaks and he hates himself for it, sucks in a breath that is just the tiniest bit shaky. "I'm sorry."

Erik slowly shakes his head, as if he refuses to believe the words that are coming out of Charles' mouth. The hand that was fisted in his cardigan relinquishes its hold and he firmly cups the telepaths chin instead. "But you can."

It's not over, Charles. I won't let it be over. He unconsciously thought those things, not thinking for a second that Charles could hear them. It was overwhelming, he knew, because Charles was on the verge of tears.

Charles still has his head turned; thinking that at any moment Erik could very well hit him. Erik refuses to do that and it almost pains him how Charles did not express that kind of trust. He turned Charles head to face him, and now, he is looking directly into those beautiful blue eyes. "You can, Charles."

He feels fingers grip his chin tightly, holding him firmly in place. He still can't look at him for longer than a moment, out of fear of what he'll see in Erik's eyes and that he'll lose any semblance of control he has left. Even without trying, Charles knows what Erik is thinking, can hear the constant it'snotIwon'tletitbeover that courses through his mind like a maddening tattoo. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, feels the hot splash of tears on his face as he shakes his head.

Before he can speak, Erik is twisting his face so that they are staring directly at each other. He feels his eyes widen and he stills, pinned to the spot by the ferocity of Erik's gaze.

"I'm sorry." It comes out in a rush now, the apologies he's felt building inside of him for days, and he shakes with the force of it. "I'm so sorry, Erik, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to be like this, honestly I didn't. I thought...I thought I was doing the right thing."

The one thing that Erik hates more than anything else in the world is seeing Charles cry. The way his lower lip quivers, the way his brows furrow as more tears threaten to fall, the way his teeth bite his lip to stifle a sob…he can't take it. "If it was the right thing, it would not be doing this to you."

Erik brought his free hand up, gently wiping away stray tears with the pad of his thumb. Now, Erik had all semblance of control back, and his only focus was to ensure that Charles felt no more pain. He stares intently into Charles' eyes, looking at the bruises underneath them. Charles was clearly suffering.

He doesn't deserve such kindness, not from Erik. Though he's always attempted to avoid any possibility of harming someone - he cares far too much for the world that cares so little for him - it's now that he feels the most guilt. His stomach ties itself in knots because of it, and he drops his gaze for the briefest of moments, shaking his head as best he can. Erik's fingers are brushing against his cheek and he raises a hand to catch and hold them there for a long moment, for he is desperate at this point for the warm comfort touch can somehow provide.

"I was foolish." Charles says quietly, lifting his eyes to meet Erik's gaze. "I was foolish, I'd take it back if I could, Erik, I promise you I would."

Erik leans in, resting his forehead against the telepaths own. He truly missed this. The closeness. The tenderness. Everything. And he was determined to never let it go again. He takes Charles' face in his large hands, breath ghosting over his perfect lips. "I want you back, Charles." He states honestly, gazes locked. In the next instant, Erik was pressing his body against the other mans, closing the gap between their lips. The kiss is soft and gentle, and lasts for a few short moments before Erik pulled back, offering a slight smile for the sake of brightening the somber expression on Charles face.

"I'll _always_ want you by my side, Charles…"

 **-End-**


End file.
